at hand, rehearsing her lines in the mob scene, was shocked at this.
"You are a selfish little pig!" she called.
"But he will have to go away, if Pops goes," said the flapper, in magnificent extenuation.
The words told. Grandma seemed to see things in a new light.
"You come with me," she commanded; "both of you."
Ahead of them she led the way to that pergola where Bean had once overheard their talk.
"Sit down," said Grandma, and herself sat between them.
"You are a couple of children," she began accusingly. "Why, when I was your age" She broke off suddenly, and for some moments stared into the tracery of vines.
"When I was your age," she began once more, but in a curiously altered voice—"Lord! What a time of years!" She spoke slowly, softly, as one who would evoke phantoms. "Why, at your age," she turned slightly to the flapper, "I'd been married two years, and your father was crawling about under my feet as I did the housework."
She was still looking intently ahead to make her vision alive.
"What a time of years, and how different! Sixty years ago—why, it seems farther back than Noah's ark. The log cabins in the little clearings, and people marrying when they wanted to—always early, and working hard and raising big families. I was the only girl, but I had nine
